Peter and Brian
by AGP1990
Summary: There have been quite a few jokes in Family Guy that came from Seth MacFarlane's The Life of Larry, but almost none from his Larry and Steve. This is based on the latter, and Larry and Steve have been replaced by their respective FG equivalents, Peter and Brian.


Hi there. My name is Brian. I'm a dog in case you're… you know, stupid. This morning I came so dangerously close to having breakfast with my maker, for my number was up at the Quahog City Pound. Over the loudspeaker I could hear my ominous fate being announced by a monotonous woman: "Number 27, please prepare for immediate destruction."

With only a few minutes left to live, I set about the task of being noticed. There was just one problem: nobody could understand me… until Peter Griffin and his two children showed up, and thus began the ugliest day of my life. He had brought his son Chris and daughter Meg with him so they could find a pet for the family. "For crying out loud," I thought to myself, "will nobody save me?" Then I heard them have a conversation about me.

"Look, Dad!" Meg cried. "That dog knows how to speak English!"

"You don't see one of those every day," added Chris.

"You know," Peter stated, "I once had a Jack Russell terrier that spoke Dutch, but I couldn't understand a word he was saying."

As soon as Peter's eyes met mine I grabbed him in desperation. Meg and Chris were frightened that I should grab their father; but their faces didn't show such fright. "If you do not get me out of here," I said to him, "I will be put to sleep. Do you understand? You will be indirectly responsible for the resulting euthanasia."

"Oh, boy," Peter said. "They've got enough kids over there as it is." After talking to Meg and Chris about my doom, they decided to release me.

Just my luck. For the first three people who could understand me, the children were somewhat unappealing yet decent, but the family guy had the IQ of a flank steak. With the three members of the Griffin household, I went to their… Quality Apartment in downtown Quahog. There I met the fourth member of the family, Peter's wife Lois, who appeared to be three months pregnant.

As soon as I was in my new abode, Peter showed me to my room. "What do you think, Brian?" he asked.

"Well," I answered, "it's got everything I need… a TV… a light… a bed…"

"Oh, great. You're all set, then!"

And then it happened. The video tube on the TV blew and the light bulb exploded. "At least the bed's okay," I said, but then out burst a spring. "Peter," I said, rather frustrated, "we really need to address this problem."

"Oh, you're right, Brian," Peter replied. "We gotta do something." But rather than think of anything, he was too busy watching the gears in his mind crank slowly or putting a square peg in a round hole. "What will we do?" he asked at length.

"Let's go shopping," I said. "Hey, that's what I was thinking," said Peter.

Not long thereafter, Peter and I were in his 1975 Ford LTD to shop for furniture in Providence. "Peter," I said on our way to the store, "it says here that your license was suspended." "No, they just took it away temporarily," answered Peter. "Now where to shop? Oh, Stewie's has usually got good stuff. Air conditioner's always turned on high on that one…"

Then I saw a sign reading "FORK AHEAD" and I touched Peter's shoulder. "Watch it, Brian," he said. "I had a tetanus shot there the other day." I covered my eyes and prepared for the worst. "Peter," I said as soon as I calmed down, "next time, please be more careful." Then I realized that Peter wasn't next to me. The LTD had been split in half, and I was by myself. I ran across the road, off a cliff and into a local farm belonging to a guy named Ezekiel and his wife Esther, both of whom were playing Scrabble.

"What was that?" Ezekiel asked when I zipped by.

"Half an LTD," answered Esther.

"Well, as long as it don't go near the chickens," said Ezekiel.

Well, I _did_ go near the chickens, picking one up, and right through a pile of dynamite. "Wait a minute," I thought aloud. "Isn't that a bit contrived?"

Luckily I landed in the parking lot right next to some hick from Alabama. "Pardon me," he said. "Do you have any yellow redneck mustard?"

Peter landed right next to me. "I don't know, Brian," he said. "I just can't find anything. Hey, what about that place?" And he pointed to a store called Quality Furnishings, just across from us.

At Quality Furnishings, we met a perky redhead who appeared more cheerful than most people I had known before. "Hi there," she said. "Welcome to Quality Furnishings with only quality affordable items and the best in customer service. Just ask our spokesperson, Mickey the Xenophobic Scotsman who can't watch a movie without shouting at the screen."

Upon seeing us Mickey gasped and shouted, "Och! People!" Then he bolted right out the window.

"I'm Cindy," continued the customer service representative. "How can I help you?"

"She seems rather sprightly, doesn't she?" I said to myself.

"Oh, isn't that cute!" giggled Cindy. "Your dog walks on two legs!"

"Cindy," said Peter, "we're looking for a bed."

"Follow me," said Cindy. A few minutes later we saw a bed with pink sheets. "This," Cindy explained, "is the Massage Mattress, our newest item in stock." Peter got on it and I started it for him, and four mechanical arms came out and started to massage his back. "You gotta be kidding me," he said. "This feels great. You gotta try this, Brian."

"No, that's okay."

"Come on. You'll like it." So I got on and after a few seconds or so I felt better. "Oh, yeah," I said. "This actually feels quite good." "Alright, then," said Peter. But then he adjusted the speed to high, and then it ruined how I felt. The four arms threw me to the floor back and forth before they smashed my body against the wall. In just thirty seconds I had gone from feeling heaven to feeling hell.

"Well, is that therapeutic or what?" asked Peter. "How do you feel, Brian?"

"Like Agamemnon after the fury of Clytemnestra," I answered in pain.

"Oh yeah… who?"

"It's a tragedy."

"Oh… is everybody alright?"

A few minutes later we were watching Cindy show us various lights to replace the one in my apartment. Holding up a particularly nifty model, she said, "This light is perfect for the avid reader with directional adjustability and variable intensity!"

Peter unscrewed a large light bulb from another light. "I'd better use one of these big bulbs," he said.

"That's an 800W bulb, sir," the normally cheerful Cindy said in a more serious voice.

"She's right, Peter," I said. "You can't put an 800W bulb in a lamp that size."

"Calm down, Brian," said Peter. "I think I know what I'm talking about, alright? I didn't spend twelve years in kindergarten because I'm stupid."

"Why, then?"

"I got my foot caught in the radiator," Peter answered. He turned on the lamp and it glowed like a _Star Wars_ light saber. "Luke," he said, covering his mouth and doing a very bad imitation of Darth Vader, "this is your landlord. You still haven't returned my weed whacker."

The strength of the lamp was enough to chop the bookshelf in two. I just barely got away with my life by jumping. Of course, once I saw Mickey asleep on the couch, it just got worse. I bounced off the couch and my head went through a TV set. As soon as I went in the men's room… **KABOOM**! I was launched into the sky and onto the nose of Flight 841 from Quahog to Springfield. The pilot of the plane was a guy named Glen Quagmire, and with him was his son, Charlie. "Charlie," Quagmire said to his son, "I know you've never flown a plane before, but why don't you take over the controls while I take a wee nip of the creature?"

"Okay," answered Charlie.

As soon as Charlie was in control, the plane went into a tailspin and crashed right into the store. None of the passengers died, however, and only one was injured: a guy named Joe Swanson, who had been paralyzed from the waist down and had to go to the hospital with Dr. Elmer Hartman.

"My goodness, Charlie, look what you've done!" said Quagmire angrily, but he wasn't angry for long. "Oh, hell. I can't stay mad at you. Come on. I'll buy you a licorice bit."

"Brian," said Peter as I emerged from the wreckage, "I hate to tell you this, but my card was declined. We're gonna have to come back next week." Just when I thought things could get no worse than then, a pile of rubble fell on my head.

"Thanks for shopping Quality!" said Cindy. "Bye bye now!"

So there you have it. Being with Peter is hazardous to my health; but as long as no other family or person can hear me, I'm stuck with him. Just give the dog a break, huh? I'm house-broken, I'm neutered and I'm well-versed in the works of Chaucer and Tennyson. Uh-oh. Here comes the troublemaker. He's adjusting the tripod… looks good… dammit! He screwed with the controls. Now how can I get anybody else to hear me? Idiot.


End file.
